


Blair And His Muggle

by Dolimir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel as the fandom, with Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Checking In (Blair, Eli Stoddard)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suemc](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=suemc).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please disregard all timelines.  
> This story is just a goofy little universe I put together while fulfilling ficlet obligations. Please don't take it serious, BUT feel free to play in it if you'd like.

“You’re positive?”

“Yes.” Blair nodded. “James Ellison is a squib. His mother’s genes never manifested. He’s simply a muggle with five heightened senses.”

Eli Stoddard leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk between them. “Fascinating.”

“He does show signs of having been obliviated sometime during his youth. Apparently, his senses were already heightened as a child and he witnessed the murder of his football coach. He was able to describe the men who killed his coach to the authorities, but when they tried to follow up later in the week he had absolutely no memory the incident. They wrote his forgetfulness off as shock. After all, no child should ever have to witness something so horrific.”

“But his senses came back?”

Blair nodded again. “Because of the obliviation, he forgot about his abilities and was able to live a fairly normal life. He went to college, then joined the Marines. During one of his missions he became stranded in the Peruvian jungles. I can only speculate that his senses came back online because he was in a life or death situation. ”

Eli leaned back in his chair and studied his friend. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Do?”

“Based on your findings, you don’t really need to continue investigating him.”

Running his fingers back through his hair, Blair also sat back in his chair. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again. Eli waited, knowing his friend would speak once he had processed all the thoughts, no doubt, running through his head.

“I think I’d like to continue riding with him for a while longer.”

“Oh?” Eli raised an eyebrow.

“Jim can see and hear things other muggles can’t. With muggle technology growing in leaps and bounds, our presence is becoming more and more difficult to hide. If anyone is going to stumble upon Woorsten Alley, it’s going to be Jim. And if that happens, I need to be there.”

“How do you think he’ll react to finding out there was a community of wizards living in Cascade.”

“Not well.” Blair shook his head sadly. “He still struggles with the fact that his senses are heightened. To know that magic was real…”

“Would blow his mind?”

“Yeah, I think that is a safe bet.”

“And you’re willing to obliviate a friend?”

Rubbing his forehead, Blair leaned forward. “I’d rather not, but I’ll do whatever’s necessary. I just hope it won’t come to that.”

“Well, Auror Sandburg, keep up the good work. And keep sending in your reports. The Ministry has been thrilled with the information you’ve been passing along. The more we know about the muggles, the better prepared we’ll be if we’re ever discovered.”

“I’m afraid it’s not ‘if,’ but when,” Blair said grimly. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Hopefully, we still have a few decades of peace left.” Eli stood and reached out his hand. “And try not to get into so much trouble, eh?”

Blair chuckled as he also stood and shook his supervisor’s hand. “Hey, you try living without a wand and still perform as an auror.”

“Well, I must admit, you’ve certainly been creative in some of your solutions.”

“Fortunately, my wandless magic is growing in leaps and bounds; nothing like a little motivation to keep me on my toes.”

“Just don’t get dead. Or worse yet, caught.”

Blair laughed. “You’re sense of priorities never cease to amaze me, Eli.”


	2. Oops (Draco/Hermione)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco/Hermione - Just some of the other players in this piece.  
> For aka_cat.

“I don’t know, love.” Draco frowned at the spray bottle in his hand. “I don’t know if muggle pesticides will work on magical gardens.”

Hermione touched his shoulder and leaned into his side. “Neville swears by it. Besides, we’re not using it on the magical plants, just on the rose bushes my mother gave us at the wedding. I’m tired of your magical bugs eating my muggle flowers.”

Draco chuckled, then kissed her nose. He frowned again at the bottle. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“It’s supposed to be all natural. According to the label it’s supposed to ‘uses botanical pyrethrins and rapeseed oil to kill eggs, larva, and adults’.”

“And it won’t harm the peacocks?”

“It shouldn’t. Let’s just try it for the rest of the week. The party’s on Saturday. I’d like the rose garden to pass inspection. After that, we’ll see if we should continue using it.”

“Mother’s not that bad.”

Hermione gave him a look.

He snorted in good humor. “Okay, maybe she is.”

Hermione grinned at him and pushed him gently toward the garden. Being the dutiful husband, he sprayed the bushes.

*-*-*-*

Arm in arm, Draco and Hermione walked through their garden.

“The party was a complete success, love.”

“It was rather fun. Considering our Hogwarts years, I wasn’t sure how your friends would react to me.”

Draco stopped and forced Hermione to turn and face him. “You are one of the most influential witches at the Ministry. They’d be idiots to hold onto grudges from ten years ago. Right now, they’re all hoping you’ll forget about the past and not leave them out in the cold.”

Hermione smiled warmly at him, but her grin slowly melted away as her gaze slid past him to the path just beyond him.

“What’s the matter, love?”

“Draco, did the party make the society page?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t read the paper yet. Why? Is it important?”

Hermione swallowed hard, then gently took his chin and turned it.

“What exactly am I lookin…Oh bullock, is that…?”

Trembling, she whispered, “Her animagus is a blue beetle.”

Draco knelt beside the large blue beetle laying on its back in the middle of the pathway.

“Is it…is she…”

“As a doornail.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide in horror.

Draco picked up the beetle and tossed it to one of peacocks strutting by. It caught the beetle and swallowed it whole then continued looking for scraps from the party.

“Oops.”


	3. Intruder (Jim, Draco, Blair)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Lastscorpion.

“Freeze!”

“Freeze?”

“Don’t move unless you want a bullet between your eyes?”

“I suggest you drop _your_ weapon before someone gets hurt.”

“Oh, someone’s going to get hurt all right.”

“Jim! What’s going on?”

“Intruder. Call 911.”

“Everyone calm down. I’m going to turn on a light.”

Blair flicked on the overhead light, only to discover his roommate on the stairs pointing his service revolver at a blonde man standing in the middle of the loft pointing a wand back at him.

“Malfoy?”

“You know this person?”

“Sandburg, please ask your roommate to lower his weapon before his entrails begin to hang around his knees.”

“Okay, look, I need everyone to lower their weapons and calm down.”

“You first, muggle.”

“Dream on.” Jim shook his head as if clearing cobwebs from his brain. “What did you call me?”

“Jim, please--”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake! Stupefy.”

“Immobulus!” Blair shouted as Jim’s body started to fall forward. “Malfoy! What the hell, man?” Blair glared at the blond in the middle of the room even as he guided Jim’s body back up to his bed. “Mobilicorpus.”

“He wasn’t lowering his weapon.”

“Of course he wasn’t lowering his weapon, you idiot. You’re an intruder in his home.”

“His home?” Draco frowned.

While Blair removed Jim’s weapon from his hand and placed it back in the nightstand, Draco looked around the loft apartment.

“What happened to your warehouse?”

“It exploded.” Blair placed Jim under the covers and was now standing at the rail of the loft, looking down at his friend.

“It exploded? You weren’t experimenting with potions again, were you? You always were pants at it.”

“I got two points less than you did on the potions O.W.L.s.”

“Like I said, pants.” Draco smirked as they fell into their old routine.

Blair shook his head as he descended the stairs. “What are you doing here, man?”

“What? I can’t drop in to see an old friend?”

“At three in the morning?”

A disgusted groan escaped the wizard. “I bollocked the time-conversion again, didn’t I?”

Chuckling, Blair nodded. “I would say that should be obvious by now. But why were you coming to see me in the first place?”

“Well, I wasn’t technically coming to see you. Granger and I are experimenting with a long range floo spell.”

“Okay,” Blair sighed. “But why here?”

“Because yours was the only floo address I could remember for this side of the colonies.”

“You couldn’t owl first?”

“Your floo was open! Besides, I figured I’d be in and out without anyone being the wiser.”

“Your plan might have worked if it weren’t for the fact that I live with a sentinel.”

“Really?”

“Draco,” Blair warned.

“Sorry. I better be heading back. Granger is probably going around the bend even as we speak.”

Blair reached his hand toward his friend and Draco shook it.

“Don’t be a stranger, man, but give me a head’s up next time.”

“I will. Sorry for the cock-up. And hey, good job on the wandless magic.” Draco smirked before Blair could react. “Department of Mysteries, London, England.” And with that he was gone.

Blair looked toward Jim’s bedroom and wondered what the odds were that he could make Jim believe it had all been a dream.


	4. Paperwork (Draco/Hermione)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For indraleigh.  
> Prompt: Draco - Officework or paperwork.  
> 

“I hate paperwork.”

“I know you do, love, but it’s a necessary evil.”

Draco smirked. “I must be rubbing off on you because that was a very un-Gryffindor thing for you to say.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but returned the smirk. “Well, it’s true, you have been rubbing off on me a lot lately.”

“Why, Mrs. Malfoy, what an innuendo packed statement that was.”

A blush reddened her cheeks, which delighted Draco to no end. He opened his mouth to suggest another activity they could engage in, but Hermione rallied and pointed imperiously at the scroll in front of him.

“Merlin never had to write things down,” he grumbled.

“Yes, and look how much magic we’ve lost over the centuries because no one wrote it down. Besides the Ministry is paying us good money for our discoveries, the least we can do is to document what we’ve accomplished.”

Draco muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“They pay you to be brilliant; they pay me to be a guinea pig.”

But instead of smiling, like he intended her to do, she frowned and turned in her chair so that she was facing him. “I would never risk you, Draco. Never.”

“I know, love. Don’t mind me. My mind isn’t quite in the present at the moment.”

“You didn’t overtax yourself going to Washington and back did you?”

He took her hand in his. “I’m a little tired, but it’s nothing to worry about. Hey, did I tell you that Sandburg had found a sentinel?”

“What? No.”

“He did. Unfortunately, I woke him up when I appeared in their loft.”

“You didn’t blow Blair’s cover, did you? You know he’s doing important work over there.”

“I know. And I don’t think I did.”

Hermione sat back and smiled for a moment, but didn’t release his hand. “Do you know there’s a theory that postulates that sentinels are direct descendants of werewolves who bred with muggles?”

A startled laugh escaped Draco. “What? No! Really?”

“Yes, the theory goes that they bred out the dangerous traits, basically leaving the heightened senses behind. I wonder if Blair would be willing to--”

“No. Absolutely not.” Draco withdrew his hand and shook his finger at her.

“What? Why not?”

“Because you’re talking about more paperwork, woman, and we haven’t finished the stacks we have in front of us now!”


	5. Time Is On My Side (The Fat Lady, Blair)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for perclexed.
> 
> This story doesn't fall sequentially in the time line.
> 
> I'm not sure I've said, but these ficlets are being written in response to prompts I asked for in an attempt to get my writing muscles active again. So far there really hasn't been any rhyme or reason to them (and there might not ever be).

In her prime, that is to say when she was still breathing, she loved to dance the Viennese waltz with her husband. They would glide around the ballroom, seeing only each other, the magic of their love making them both glow.

They garnered such a reputation for sophistication and elegance that other wizards begged them to teach them not only how to dance, but how to carry themselves with such refinement. And so, the Braithwaite Academy of Comportment was founded. She (and her husband) had taught generations of wizards the joys of how to conduct themselves with dignity and pride.

Which was why she was rather shocked to discovered that she had been immortalized in a painting in a pink Grecian toga. She would have sworn that she and her husband had stood for a portrait of the two of them dancing, for the appeal of dancing in each other’s arms for eternity had appealed greatly to them. But no matter how hard she concentrated, she could not transfer her consciousness to another painting of herself. That’s not to say that she hadn’t sat for the ridiculous portrait she now found herself in, but it had all been done as a gag at a weekend party, when everyone had had a little too much wine. Her Reginald had sat for one as well. They had put the paintings into a guest room in their little-used east wing for while they loved to laugh at the ridiculousness of the portraits, they felt it would be undignified to allow others to see them in such a silly state.

When she discovered that she was somewhat mobile, she searched all the portraits around her, quickly discovering that she had been brought to Hogswarts. But there was no sign of Reginald. She made such a ruckus that finally a pasty face, pouchy, hunched over Squib demand that she return to her portrait. When she refused, Albus Dumbledore, himself, came to speak with her. He told her, regretfully, that her home had been burnt to the ground during a war the English muggles were having with the German muggles. Her current portrait was the only one that could be saved. While several wizards had tried to restore one of her husband’s portraits, they had been unsuccessful.

She had gone back to her portrait and took her place, refusing to talk to anyone for years. It wasn’t until a plump woman named Violet, from a portrait from a small chamber off the Great Hall came to tell her that a young girl had been killed in the first floor lavatory that she had moved. Being off the Great Hall, meant that Violet was privy to a lot of juicy gossip; sure it was about children, but sometimes it was about one of the parents and once or twice even about a professor.

Violet had understood her pain, but told her it was time to embrace her situation. In life, she had been too elegant to be silly, so now was her chance to embrace her toga and have a little fun. After all, this was a school. And who knew, maybe she could still impart some of her knowledge.

She took Violet’s suggestion to heart and slowly, but surely, embraced how she had been portrayed. After a little while, Albus Dumbledore, himself, gave her a promotion and made her guardian of the door to Gryffindor tower. While she tried to teach the little hooligans proper manners, more often than not she let their shockingly rude behavior go. It was more fun to poke the little pests and to lecture them loudly when they returned to the dorms after hours.

Over the years, the students forgot her name and started to call her ‘The Fat Lady,’ which annoyed her to no end. In fact, she had been known to refuse to let a student into the common room if they referred to her in such a manner, even if they knew the password. She knew they still referred to her that way, but rarely to her portrait.

She missed dancing. She missed being able to impart her knowledge of comportment to young witches and wizards, but she contented herself to watch her Gryffindor children grow into young witches and wizards. She took her job seriously, and while she was known to have a little too much wine during the holidays, she always managed to stumble back to her portrait before winter break was over.

So it was with some shock that she heard her name called out one night after hours.

“Hester Braithwaite?”

She woke from a light doze and found an unfamiliar curly haired child standing in front of her portrait. “Yes.”

“Are you the Hester Braithwaite who founded the Braithwaite Academy of Comportment?”

She smiled hugely down at the little boy. “Why yes I am.”

The curly haired cherub couldn’t be more than ten years old, but he inclined his head respectfully to her and she was immediately charmed by his manners.

“You’re not a Gryffindor, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I’m a Ravenclaw.”

“So what are you doing here in the Gryffindor Tower after hours? Why shouldn’t I sound the alarm for Filch?”

“I came to ask you a favor, ma’am.”

Her mouth fell open in shock, but she closed it rather quickly. “You came to see me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why?”

“Well, you see, ma’am, while I am a pureblood wizard, my mother decided to embrace the muggle lifestyle.”

“Oh, my,” she said, unable to stop herself.

“And because of that, I have had very little training in proper wizarding etiquette.”

“Oh, dear.”

“And I was wondering if you’d be willing to teach me a few things. You know, so I don’t embarrass myself any more than need be.”

“Why, of course,” she said before she even had a moment to think about what he was asking. “A fine young wizard, such as yourself, could go far if you had the proper training.”

“That’s what I was hoping.”

Even though she and Reginald never had any children themselves, she smiled maternally down at the student. “What is your name, young man?”

“Blair. Blair Sandburg.”

“Well, Blair Sandburg, I do believe we are going to become great friends.”


	6. Whiteout (Blair and Jim)

“--to. Wake up, Jim. Come on, man. Wake up.”

Jim started awake and found his roommate sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Sandburg? What’s going on?”

“You were shouting.”

Jim frowned, then remembered the blond man standing in the middle of the loft. He bolted upright in bed and looked over the railing, but could sense no one else but Blair. “There was an intruder…”

Blair cocked his head to one side. “In your dream?”

“No.” Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Jim rubbed his eyes. “Yes. I guess.”

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” Jim said crankily.

“Well then, maybe I should let you go back to sleep.” Blair stood and smiled down at him. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

Jim nodded, oddly touched by his roommate’s concern. He collapsed back onto the mattress as he listened to Blair’s footsteps fade down the stairs. He could picture the intruder clearly in his head. Pale. Blond. British. And what was up with that? It didn’t feel like a nightmare, more like a memory. But yet what would a pale blond Brit be doing in his loft?

He laid in the darkness and listened to his roommate’s breathing, waiting nearly a half hour before it evened off, letting him know that Blair had finally drifted off to sleep. Sitting up, he moved to the side of his bed and quietly descended the stairs. As he stood in the center of the room, he couldn’t find even a speck of dust on the floor or in any of the corners. While Blair might look like a hippie with time on his hands now that the Dead had broken up, he was a meticulous housekeeper (although Jim had never actually witness him clean). His devotion to cleanliness was probably why Jim didn’t mind him as a roommate.

As he neared the chimney, Jim could smell a slight hint of ash, like something had been disturbed inside the flue, although he couldn’t imagine what. The more he concentrated on the smell, the more his senses whited out. He took a step back, frightened.

White out?

When he lost control of his senses, he had a tendency to gray out, not white out.

He looked toward Blair’s bedroom door. A part of him wanted to wake the grad student up and demand some answers. And yet, there was something that stopped him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Moving toward the stairs, he thought back over his association with Blair and realized he had whited out before. Not that he ever completely whited out like he almost just had. It was more like white noise or a barrier his senses couldn’t cross. It made his skin tingle and left him with a distinctive taste in his throat, not necessarily bad, just unusual. Was it because Blair was a guide? Or was it something else?

The first time he felt the strangeness was when Blair’s warehouse had blown up. The firefighters who arrived on the scene had told them that they were lucky to be alive. The force with which the wall exploded should have killed them. With adrenaline running through his system, Jim hadn’t really questioned the odd sensation.

Then there was the odd way Sandburg reacted to Laura McCarty. He was almost angry. The air practically buzzed when they were around each other. But his senses had already been acting haywire, and again he hadn’t thought much about the anomaly.

Jim wondered what possible explanation Blair would give for the sensation. He shook his head. For all that Blair talked, he didn’t reveal much.

Yet, Jim trusted him.

He did.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep a closer eye on him.


End file.
